Page 9

Adonis

T he mahogany door slammed behind me, echoing through the hallway. My blood boiled, but I forced it to ice over. I couldn’t let emotion cloud my judgment. Not now. Not with Xenobia’s life on the line. My father or one of his assassins had drawn the line in the sand, and it was time to go all in.

I stalked down the corridor, my footsteps silent on the plush carpet. My mind raced, dissecting every word of that fucking text. How did they know her number? That was a private line, only for family and Damara.

A maid scurried past, averting her eyes. I watched her go, suspicion gnawing at my gut. Was it her? Or the groundskeeper I glimpsed through the window, replanting and pruning roses with meticulous care? Hell, it could be any of them. I didn’t trust anyone. I leaned against a wall, letting the cool marble seep into my skin.

Breathe, Adonis. Think.

“Everything alright, Cardelo?”

I turned to see Giovanni, Don Hawthorne’s right-hand man and the ex-head of security, eyeing me with concern. Or was it caution?

“Fine,” I grunted. “Just planning our next move.”

He nodded a little too eagerly. “Of course. We’re all behind you, one hundred percent.”

I forced a smile. “Good to hear. I’ll need everyone’s cooperation.”

As he walked away, I cataloged every detail—the slight hitch in his step and how his hand twitched toward his pocket. Innocent quirks or tells of a guilty conscience? I was too paranoid to let anything slide without question.

I pushed off the wall, heading toward the security room. It was time to review the footage and analyze every grainy frame for a clue. As one foot overtook the other, I felt the weight of eyes on me. Friend or foe, I couldn’t say. I needed to focus. There was a mole in our ranks, a threat that could bring down everything we’d built.

Titus was already reviewing the footage from the last week, working hard to figure out what went wrong with the perimeter’s defenses. He looked up as I entered and nodded when I instructed him to search for a mole.

I stalked through the estate’s winding corridors, needing air and space to clear my head. But as I rounded a corner into the conservatory, I froze.

There she was. Xenobia. Alone. Unguarded.

She stood among the lush greenery, trailing her fingers along a leaf. The early afternoon sun filtered through the glass ceiling. My throat went dry.

She turned, those piercing eyes finding mine. “Donny,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I was secretly hoping you’d find me.”

The air between us crackled with tension. I took a step forward, then caught myself. She was looking at me with such love it burned through my veins.

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my composure. “Xenobia, we need to talk. About… about the dangers we’re facing.”

My voice came out rougher than I intended, a mix of concern and something darker, more primal. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Focus, nigga.

“There are risks,” I continued, forcing each word out. “Getting close to me… it’s not safe for you. I’m a target. That means anyone associated with me becomes one too. When my father took me away, your father never lost contact with me. I became a mole in my father’s operation, knowing I’d have to pay for my sins one day. The Toussaints are after you, but if my father knows I’m here protecting you, his assassins will be out for my blood too,” I confessed.

Xenobia took a step closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “And you think that’s supposed to shake me?” she challenged, her tone laced with that familiar defiance that thrilled and terrified me. “I’m a Hawthorne, Adonis. Danger has been my shadow since the day I was born.”

I shook my head, frustration building up inside me. “This is different. The threat is inside our walls now. And I can’t... fucking you is one thing, but opening the door to this, to us, will destroy us both. You know it too.”

She closed the distance between us, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of vanilla on her skin. “You don’t get to make that decision for me,” Xenobia said softly, her words like steel wrapped in silk. “I choose my own path, my own risks. And I choose to stand by you, come hell, high water, bullets, or brute.”

My breath caught in my throat. Dammit, if she wasn’t impressive in her stubbornness. And it was going to get her killed if she got too close to me.

“You don’t understand,” I growled, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. “I’m not a good man, Xenobia. The things I’ve done… the blood on my hands… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”

But even as I said the words, I knew they were hollow. Because deep down, in the darkest corners of my soul, I wanted her. Needed her. And that terrified me more than any blood relative or enemy ever could.

“There is nobody better than you, Adonis.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. Xenobia’s words echoed in my ears. Maybe if I find the mole and neutralize the threat …

“Come with me,” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “I’ve got something to show you.”

I led her through the winding corridors of the estate, my hand hovering near the small of her back but never quite touching. The air felt thick with tension, or maybe that was just me. My palms were sweating. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been that nervous.

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door I had installed just days prior across the hall from the panic room. I watched Xenobia’s face, searching for any hint of her thoughts.

“Close your eyes,” I murmured.

She raised a questioning eyebrow, that defiant spark dancing in her gaze. “You know how I feel about you ordering me around.”

I couldn’t stifle the smirk that tugged at my lips. “Humor a nigga, Nobi.”

She sighed dramatically but complied. I pushed open the door, guiding her inside. The scent of fresh paint and canvas hit me, and I prayed to a God I’d long since stopped believing in that she’d like it.

“Alright,” I said softly. “Open ’em.”

Xenobia’s eyes flew open, and she just stood there for a moment, frozen. Then her lips parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise, her gaze darting around the room. Easels stood at the ready; brushes and paints of every color imaginable lined the shelves. A large window looked out over the gardens, flooding the space with natural light.

She gasped. “Adonis,” she whispered. “You did all this... for me?”

Something warm expanded in my chest, melting the ice I’d spent years building around my heart. “Yeah,” I admitted gruffly. “I’d pluck the stars right out of the sky for you if you asked me to. You should know that by now, Nobi. Besides, I figured you needed a safer studio. This is about as good as it’ll get until everything’s sorted.”

She turned to me, her eyes shining with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. It made my throat tight and my skin too hot for my clothes. “I love it. It’s perfect,” Xenobia acknowledged, her blooming smile like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, even as relief washed over me. “It’s nothing,” I muttered. “Just thought you might like it, is all.”

But as I watched her move through the room, trailing her fingers over blank canvases with awe, I knew it was so much more than nothing. It was everything. She was everything. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Xenobia set up her first canvas. My eyes never left her, scanning for threats out of habit. But for once, the constant tension in my muscles eased a bit.

She mixed colors with a practiced hand, humming softly to herself. The sound filled the room, drowning out the usual noise in my head—the endless calculations, the paranoia, the weight of duty.

“You gonna stand there all day like a statue?” Xenobia teased, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I grunted. “It’s my job to watch you.”

“Well, at least make yourself comfortable. There’s a chair over there.”

I hesitated, then grabbed the chair and positioned it where I could see both Xenobia and the door. As I settled in, something unexpected happened. The chaos in my mind faded away. Watching her paint was like… I don’t know, like finding an oasis in the middle of a war zone. Her brush strokes were sure and steady, creating something beautiful out of nothing. It hit me then—that was what she did to my life too.

Shit. I should be finding the mole, protecting her, but here I am, wanting to capture her sunshine and carry it in my back pocket.

I cleared my throat. “So, uh, what are you painting?”

Xenobia’s lips curved into a secretive smile. “You’ll see when it’s finished.”

“Mysterious ass.” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smirking back at her.

As she worked, I found myself relaxing, really relaxing, for the first time in, hell—I couldn’t even remember. It scared me how much peace her presence brought me, how much I craved it. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t notice when Xenobia set down her brush and turned to me with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Your turn,” she said, reaching for my arm.

“What are you—” I started, but then I felt the cool touch of her paintbrush on my skin. I could’ve stopped her. Should’ve, even. But I didn’t. Her touch was light, almost teasing, as she painted something on my forearm. I watched, transfixed, as the letters took shape.

M-I-N-E.

Fuck.

And then she kissed me, and it was like a dam breaking. All the pent-up desire, all the love I’d tried to ignore—it all came rushing out. I kissed her back, hard and desperate, one hand tangled in her hair while the other pulled her closer. It was exposed and so fuckin’ wrong, but it felt more right than anything ever had.

I pulled back, my mind reeling. The taste of her cherry-flavored lip gloss lingered on my lips, a reminder of what I’d just done—what we’d just done. I stared at her, torn between desire and duty. The word she’d painted on my skin seemed to burn, a brand I couldn’t ignore. Mine. Was I hers? Could I be?

“Are you sure nothing has changed between us now that you know who my father is?”

She nodded, eyes filled with certainty as they stationed on mine. “I’m positive. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the stress cloud my head. “I don’t know. I just can’t shake the feeling that you’ll wake up one day and resent me for everything.”

“Look at me, Adonis.”

I sucked my teeth. “What?”

“I said look at me. You wanna know what your problem is?”

“What’s that?” I inquired, looking her square in the eye.

“You think in order to be loved, you have to be loveable.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

“I think you’re saying you love me.”

“I think I’m saying I am too,” she confessed.

“Say it again.”

She smirked and reached out, her paint-stained fingers intertwining with mine. “I love you, Adonis Cardelo. I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care how many mistakes you’ve made. What I feel in my heart for you isn’t your mother’s love, and it damn sure ain’t your father’s. I can’t take away your guilt, but I can promise to love you through it,” she vowed.

My Xenobia. Perhaps it had always been this way. She was mine, and I was hers. Doomed to a fate neither of us could change. We stood there, inches apart, her chest heaving as she looked up at me… waiting.

“I love you too, Xenobia. Always have,” I acknowledged. “Whatever happens, I’ll protect you.”

“We’ll protect each other,” she corrected with a smirk.

“Alright, Nobi. Have it your way.”

And just like that, I caved, giving in to the love that had been between us all along. Fuck what anybody had to say about it.